Mortal
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: I liked to think that we were invincible, but I knew that we weren't.


A/N: Apprently, caffeine puts me in a reflective sort of mood. And talking with friends on IM prompts a discussion about Deakins...and yeah. The two combined prompted this. CI's not mine, and I'm out of here for the moment...

* * *

I liked to think that we were invincible, but I knew that we weren't. That much had been proven to me over the course of the years I'd spend in the department…more times than I cared to remember. I'd had the blood of fellow cops on my clothes, and on my hands. I'd heard the gunshots that had felled them, and the ones that had felled me as well. I'd had my own blood staining whatever it was that I happened to be wearing…I had faded out with thoughts of my family floating through my mind.

But I had always come out of it alive. I'd always woken up. Annoyed, maybe, by the fact that there always seemed to be hospital lights glaring down at me, directly into my eyes, but very much alive. I felt guilty, sometimes, knowing that I was still present, when others were gone, but the feeling faded away after a while. It hurt, knowing that I would be able to see my children grow up, when others that I had known for years would not be able to. But that feeling, too, faded away after a while.

It always seemed to return, though, whenever I found myself sitting in a chapel, in my dress uniform, making up one part of a sea of NYPD blue…dress uniform blue, that is. That was where I found myself now, staring forward, unable to look away from the open casket before me. There was the face of someone that I had known but for a short while, but I had known him nonetheless, and that was why I was there. He was not a member of my squad, nor of any other squad that I had friends in or worked with, but he was a cop, all the same. A uniform, but still one of us.

And like so many before him, he'd died in the line of duty, trying to protect someone that he hadn't even known, like so many of the rest of us did. I had heard about the funeral in passing from a friend of mine, and for some reason, had felt impressed upon to come. So I had. And now I found myself once again reflecting on the many things that had happened since I myself had been back in uniform. It bothered me on many levels that within a few days, things would be back to normal, and that as time passed, no one would remember why this man had died, though they would all remember that he _had_ died, the same way they'd remember his name.

I wondered what people would say when I was finally the one in an open casket…if it was even open at all, considering all the things I had gotten myself into. I wondered what they would think; if they would shake their heads and say that it was a shame that I was gone, or if they'd all be secretly relieved, as I suspected a close friend of mine would pretend to be, if only to ease whatever else she was feeling. I wondered if they would remember me for more than what I had done within the department, and hoped that that would be the case.

When the funeral ended, I rose to my feet with everyone else, and slowly made my way outside, into the sunlight that always seemed to be present the day a cop's funeral was held. As if the weather was mocking us in its own subtle way, because somehow, it knew that all cops hated being called out into bad weather, be it rain or snow, or some sort of storm, but that we came out anyway, hoping that it would clear up and be as it was at that moment, the sky a clear blue, and the sun bright enough that most of us were wearing sunglasses.

I paused on the steps of the church as other figures came walking past me, obviously intending to follow the procession to the cemetery. I would not be among them. Somehow I felt as if it would be wrong, solely for the fact that this lone uniform and I had only been mere passing acquaintances. So I remained where I was, and suddenly felt as if the rest of the world were fading away, and it was only me, and my reflections on this, and the rest of everything around me. After a while, the sound of my cell phone ringing caught my attention, and I reached into my pocket for it, flipping it open, only to be greeted by the voice of one of my detectives telling me that she and her partner were at a crime scene and my presence was being requested.

I closed the phone a few minutes later, and shook my head as I started down the stairs, to head off to another crime scene, to my detectives, another case, and another person who had been murdered by one who apparently had no regards or thoughts for anyone other than themselves. But that was the way it was, and always would be. And as I walked, I found myself silently praying for every uniform out there, for every detective, and sergeant, lieutenant and captain…and even for myself.

I liked to think that we were invincible, but I knew we weren't. Something could happen to us at any minute of any hour of any day. We could be hurt, physically, and emotionally, We could have our entire lives changed by a single moment, and not be able to do anything about it. We could lose our lives for reasons we had deemed worth it, could give our lives if only to serve and protect a city that never really gave us anything in return, but we would do it, because we had promised we would…and we would neither look back nor regret it.

But that, too, was the way it was, and always would be. We all liked to think that we were invincible…but the truth remained that we were really only mortal.


End file.
